Control
by stripesthetiger11
Summary: After an unfortunate incident, Riddler quickly realizes he's losing his touch. Despite how hard he tries to piece things back together, his grip seems to only be loosening. He may need a bit of help fitting the pieces of this puzzle back into place before he completely falls apart. The lst thing he wants, though, is a doctor's appointment.
1. What's Wrong with the Riddler?

Edward Nygma prided himself on his own memory. Photographic and able to retain decades of important information, he could recall any bit of essential and factual evidence he needed. The Riddler could recite the full names and disorders of each and every inmate within Arkham's walls— every notable inmate, anyways. He was able to easily come back to formulas and equations he had written month before when needed. He could repeat every single riddle he had ever given the Batman without fail, and having been in this business for quite a while, it was no small feat. He found it essential to be able to recall over three hundred digits in pi; many call this skill useless, but he only saw it as a testament to his superior mind.

The Riddler was proud of his memory, even if it did have its more unfortunate consequences. Every single one of his humiliating failures was still etched into his mind, unable to be erased. He could visually remember the hardened glower that appeared at the end of each ruined scheme. The feeling of ribs breaking and pain-filled nights at the asylum weren't very easily forgotten.

Was it mentioned that he could also remember the feel of fabric? Well it's true, which is why he always testified to wearing his more comfortable outfits; it was a harsh contrast to the tight-fitting suits the girls wore, or perhaps the uncomfortable feel of metal or burlap. He knew clothing well, as there were many times where he's had close encounters with these villains. Many villains wore gloves, whether it be for business or pleasure. Catwoman's clawed fingers had sunk into him many times, while he had been given numerous thrashings by the smooth and cold gauntlets of the Dark Knight. He preferred the snug feeling of the Mad Hatter's dinner gloves around his wrist when he was tugged along rather than the coarse feel of the more aggressive Scarecrow's hands. The rubber gloves that were wrapped around his throat were not so easily forgotten, either. He could still vividly recall their red color as they reached for him. They were warm and disgustingly wet, staining his skin and clothes with the dark crimson one could only find in blood; filthy blood that dripped from his cut and smeared messily onto the table below him.

"Mr. Riddler?"

The voice on the radio snapped Nygma from his thoughts. Raising his head with a start to look at the communication device, he internally grimaced to himself as he rubbed tired eyes with balls of his wrist. Usually he would be angered at the thought of anyone interrupting his thought process, but in the past few months, he was thankful for any distraction he could get.

Clearing his throat, he pressed down on the button of the home-made device to respond. "Yes, Stat?" he answered, raising his voice to its usual confident tone. "I'm working on a few improvements right now. What must you vex me with this time." There was a pause on the other end, before the female voice gave a reply. "I've retrieved the layout of the warehouse you wanted."

Riddler smiled softly, glad that some progress was being made today. "Good," he replied. "Get me the names of any property owners, as well as the building's previous uses." The paid informant on the other end gave a confirming "mmhmm". Keys were heard typing, before she came back to give more information. "It also appears that Catwoman is heading your way," Stat told him, to which he just nodded to himself. "She's expected," he replied, before sighing to himself. "Hopefully the meatheads I keep around won't give her much trouble." With that, he took his finger off the button and went sat back in his seat. On the table were scribbles of equations and future plans that he had, many of them crossed out or erased out of existence. He took a moment and rubbed his temples as he tried to collect himself. "You're fine," he muttered under his breath, closing his eyes. "This is just like any other visit. Just make the deal and get her to leave."

After the small pep talk to himself, he stood up confidently, grabbed his cane, and marched out of the work area. The programmed door slid open for him with ease, shutting quietly once he was out of range. Unnecessary some would call it, but there was a bit of a comfort to having his own personal touch to everything in his base.

He passed by heaps of scrapped ideas in the form of metal junk. He had been working on them lately, but after realizing that nothing really seemed to fit into place, he tossed them aside to use for later plots, should his current one fail, which he doubted it would. Moving through his lair, he saw one or two of the thugs he had hired just relaxing about and talking with each other. Usually he would get onto them for lazing about and wasting potential, but he would let it slide this time. After all, they hadn't really been doing much lately, aside from retrieving a few tools he needed.

Upon exiting the back door, he wasn't surprised to see Catwoman sitting cross-legged on one of the fences that bordered the building. She was looking down, unimpressed by the catcalling (yes he sees the opportunity for jokes and he will politely ignore it) from one of his hired hands. He was one of the more beefier brutes, lugging around an assault weapon as if it were some toy a child would drag behind him. He knew the man had a name, but he considered that information to be unworthy of space in his brain.

Selina perked up upon seeing Riddler shut the door behind him, promptly hopping down from her perch and strolling over to him. The henchmen she had been previously listening to was left without being able to finish his pick-up. "Eddie," she greeted, giving a ghost of a smile. "It's about time you showed up. I almost thought you were dead," she chuckled, crossing her arms.

"Worried about me, are you?" Riddler smirked, twirling he cane skillfully in his hand for a brief moment. "More like worried I wasn't going to get extra work," she scoffed, cocking her hip. "I can easily hire more help if needed," he told her, challenging her sass. "Uh huh, and who else do you know who can get all the random junk you need from places as secure as the _bank_?" she smiled. He gave her a knowing smirk in return. "Many people," he answered, to which she peered over at him as she lifted her goggles to the top of her head. "And do it _successfully_?" she emphasized. Riddler shut his mouth, deciding to let her win this one. After all, he didn't want to let someone like Catwoman walk out of his plans right now.

As Selina continued to mess with the goggles perched neatly on her head costumed head, she seemed to notice a glaring feature she hadn't seen before. He was quick to realize this, covering up his neck with a quick pop of the collar. Selina still saw the mark, though, as it wasn't exactly easy to hide. "No one's heard from you in three months. Apparently Firefly's been trying to get in contact for a few weeks." She gestured to his neck, stepping forward. "Is that why?"

Riddler felt the sudden weight of self-consciousness hit him as his thumb traced the new scar that ran from his his collarbone to the underside of his chin. It had taken months for the wound to close at this point, and he was hoping that with time it would disappear completely. "It's just a scratch, Cat," he replied stiffly, looking away. "You might know of it, since you seem to do a lot of scratching yourself." The confident tone he usually boasted had melted away to a stilted murmur.

"Looks like more than just a scratch, Ed," Catwoman replied. "Not to mention you look like shit. You got roughed up, huh? Lemme guess; was it Harv? Sounds like some mob-type thing he'd-"

"It doesn't concern you, Selina," Edward interrupted, wanting to cut off the conversation before it brought back the memories he'd rather not relive right now. "All that matters is that I have money and you're willing to get me what I require, yes?"

Cat rolled her eyes. It's not like she cared anyways. "Yeah, sure. So what's on the agenda for tonight?" she inquired. "Wayne Enterprises? A quick visit to Penguin's? Ooh, I haven't done a research lab in a while."

Riddler paused and dug out a slip of paper from his pocket. While the handwriting scrawled across was neat and perfect as usual, the paper itself was crumpled into a small ball. She took it, quirking a brow as she carefully unraveled it with those claws of hers. "Just a few data chips from Wayne Enterprises and several supplies from the Mad Hatter," he informed her. "I would send a few thugs over, but unfortunately, they don't really ever come back without me asking," he informed her.

Catwoman blinked, looking over the things she needed to get, as well as her offered payment scribbles across the top. Wayne Enterprises was a bit of a tough nut to crack, but it wasn't anything she hadn't done before. Not to mention the pay would be worth the effort. As for the Mad Hatter, she knew it wouldn't be too hard; given his rather care-free and distracted nature, Jervis was pretty easy to steal from. She wouldn't even have to ask for anything. He wouldn't notice if a few of his things went missing. Still, something was on her mind.

"Why don't you go and ask him yourself?" she questioned, stuffing the note into the crevice of her suit. Riddler raised his eyebrows in slight surprise at the question, giving a slight "hmm?"

"Hatter," she clarified. "Aren't you two friends or something? Or don't you at least work together sometimes?" Nygma visibly grimaced at the questioning, firmly shaking his head. "No, that won't work," he explained, thankful for his own gifted improvisation skills. "We've had a bit of a falling out recently. Like I said, there have been problems with my henchmen going over there. It would be much simpler if you just do what you do best and get back so I can enact the plot that will finally dupe the Batman."

Catwoman merely shrugged and flexed those slender fingers of hers, looking back over at the fence. "Whatever you say, Eddie." Before she left, however, she took a quick look back at the Riddler, who had turned to go back inside the building. She noticed the still-healing scar along his throat and smirked. He reached a hand over and gave it a quick little flick. "Or should I say Scarf-"

Nygma's reaction was immediate as he reeled back from the playful touch as if her claws were made of smoldering charcoal. Her own hand jerked back in slight surprise as she noticed the wide-eyed panic now clearly scrawled across his visage. While she found it amusing to see such a tight ass like the Riddler get the wits scared out of him, she was bewildered more than anything. Her brow furrowed, she took another step forward to reach out to him again. She was attempting to get another reaction, and she got it in the form of the curve of the question mark cane planted squarely on her chest. Riddler stepped back rather hastily, attempting to regain his composure as he kept the cane pointed at her. "Let's keep our interaction at an arm's length distance," he suggested. "I mean, we wouldn't want any accidents, would we? Fair enough?"

Selina didn't need to say anything in return. She could already see the beads of sweat from the man who looks ready to crumble into dust. Deciding to make better use of her time, she merely shrugged and turned to leave. "Like always, Eddie, you never fail to weird me out."

With that, she leaped up and over the fence, walking off into the night. Riddler was left under the dim light of his lair's back door, watching as she left. He let out a silent groan, rapping his knuckles against his temple to curse his own reflexes. He promptly went back inside, now just wanting to be alone.

"So what's this all about?"

"What d'you mean?"

Edward stopped just as he had entered the door, hearing the ongoing conversation in the other room. His glasses were beginning to slide down his nose, but he was quick to adjust them as he continued to listen in.

"I ain't seen the boss leave that fuckin' room in three months."

"Well, yeah, mostly 'cause he's asleep or something. You don't got the day shift. That's when he's always working on the riddle contraption things."

"Okay, yeah, but what's with all the seclusion. I thought he said he was gonna defeat the bat three months ago or somethin'."

"Oh shit, you don't know? Get with the times, my friend."

"Eh, what can I say? My wife got off maternity leave. Had to stay home for a month or so. So spit it out. What's up?"

"Sit down, my friend. Boy have I got a story to tell you."

Riddler immediately felt sick to his stomach. He didn't enjoy these stories of him being tossed around like campfire tales.

"Okay okay, so one night, the boss comes in-"

The green-clad villain stepped into the room, arms crossed as he confronted the two thugs that sat lazily in one of the base's many rooms. His presence was noticed immediately by the two, who quickly shut their mouths as soon as he was in sight. Silence overtook the room as both parties seemed to wait for the other to make a move.

"What are you imbeciles doing?" he sneered, watching one of them flinch and quickly grab his weapon to make it appear he was taking his job seriously. With a roll of his eyes, he turned away. "Catwoman should return later tonight with my things. Inform me when she's returned." He looked back at them for a moment. "And no slacking off."

As the Riddler began to walk away, he felt a bead of confidence begin to well up within him once again. The incident with Catwoman was just a fluke; he was still the Riddler after all. If he wasn't the mastermind the underworld knew him as, he would merely be a common criminal.

Still, he couldn't help but feel that bead shrink away when he stopped and listened in once again. He could still hear them whispering.

"I heard Batman was there."

"Oh yeah. He was there alright."

"Why didn't he arrest the boss or anything? Y'know, beat him up and take him to jail like he always does?"

"Well, he had to take him to the hospital first."


	2. From Cheshire Cats to Torn Riddles

**Ha, I actually had this completed for a few days now. Not sure why I didn't post it. Sorry for the wait.**

* * *

The night was relatively silent upon the rooftops of Gotham. The occasional honk of a car horn could be heard down below, but that was common late at night. At this time of day, the only people who were out were either drunk off their asses or looking to start trouble.

Selina skillfully jumped her way from building to building, taking things at a casual stroll when she wasn't leaping her way across gaps. "Hopefully ol' Brucey won't mind the missing chips," she hummed to herself, looking over the recently stolen plastic bits of data in her hands, "even if he does end up noticing all the broken glass." She frowned down at the stolen goods, wondering what all the fuss was about when it came down to something smaller than the palm of her hand. Criminals nowadays were all about information and assets; whatever happened to good old-fashioned money? Harvey may have been a bit of a bastard, but at least he had the right idea whenever he needed a bit of extra cash. She would have preferred if the prize had been something worth the risk. Of course, it wasn't like she would have been caught, what with Eddie already giving her a good layout of the building, but so much work over something so small made her expectations higher for her pay. Where he got the money, she didn't know nor care, just as long she got her share of the dough. He was smart enough to know to never trick her out of a deal and to pay up when the job was over with.

Stuffing the chips carelessly into a zipper pocket, she stopped at her destined location: a custom clothing store. She expected nothing less from a man mostly known for wearing a large hat every second of his career. If she remembered correctly, the best entrance in was through an unguarded back window; this wasn't her first shopping trip to the milliner's, and she knew from experience the shortie automatically assumed everyone was too civilized to go crawling through any windows. She took a moment to place her goggles over her eyes.

"I hope you like Cheshire cats, Jerv," she sighed, skillfully hopping from the roof to the brick wall and onto the pavement below, "because I'm about to disappear with all your shit."

Getting inside was easy enough since the Mad Hatter didn't even keep his windows locked. She crawled in through the dirtied glass panel behind a bush and into a darkly lit back room. From the lights seeping in from under the doorway that connected to the main room of the store, she assumed that was where the villain had his little tea party. She personally disliked the taste, but she knew how the British loved their tea.

Beginning to shuffle around the room that contained various desks with sewing machines and fabric, she looked at the list Edward had given her to make sure she knew what she was getting. Luckily it seemed to be where the Hatter kept his spare things, as she was easily able to find a couple of cards lying next to a jumble of tools and wires. She briefly wondered why Eddie needed these cards, but she pushed it out of her mind; it wasn't her business and she wasn't going to make it her business. Still, she couldn't help but think about how strange he'd been acting when she'd last seen him. All that confidence and that boastful attitude that got way too annoying for her taste seemed to have lost its luster.

Not that she cared, she reminded herself. As long as he continued to donate to the Gotham Bank of Selina Kyle, she couldn't really care more for whatever issues he was suffering. Half the criminal population already had daddy issues, so she knew it was best to keep her nose out of the business of others. Hopefully, in return, they would have the curtesy to do the same.

Selina passed by some of the large rolls of fabric as she continued to search for Riddler's things. She paused for a moment, however, looking back at the large rolls and taking a quick feel of them. "Now I wouldn't mind getting dolled up and going out in something like this," she chuckled under her breath, soon finding herself wishing the manager of the store wasn't most likely dead. She also found herself wishing she had just kept her mouth shut when she heard the door slam open. Swearing under her breath at her stupidity and the protection all villains insisted on, she turned around to face the shotgun pointed at her abdomen.

The man was still, holding the weapon steadily as she thought of a way out of the mess she was now entangled in. "I don't suppose you can be persuaded to put that down for a couple of bucks?" she grinned slightly. Her eyes trailed up to his head, noticing he was wearing a white rabbit mask. He pumped the shotgun, aiming it higher at her chest. "Yeah, I didn't think so," she sighed, looking away. She noticed a spool of thread on the ground and smirked, nudging her boot under its middle. She looked back up at the rabbit casually and reached for her belt. He obviously noticed it but didn't shoot her, probably waiting for the one who controlled the mask. Poor fool probably thought he could pull the trigger faster than she could strike. He actually probably could, but that's not the point. "Well, you should count yourself you're only going to feel this later when you get that mask off," she chuckled. With a swift flick of her boot, the spool was flung to the other side of the room. The small object hit its mark when it smacked against a sewing machine, the impact letting out a small bang.

The noise was gentle at best, but it was enough to get the drone to look the other way for a moment. It an instant, she pulled out her whip and flicked it towards his feet. The fall of the whip easily wrapped around his foot, and when she gave a strong enough tug, he was pulled flat on his back. After that, it was just a matter of getting to him before he could sit up and giving him a hard enough kick to the skull to cause a black out in that already empty skull of his.

As she was about to make her exit, she heard footsteps draw near. "Is that the Cheshire Cat I hear?" Mad Hatter chirped, barging into the room. He was closely backed by two more of his puppets, both carrying weapons that were quickly aimed at her. The milliner clasped his gloved hands together with a delighted giggle at the sight of her, taking a moment to adjust the hat atop his head to get a better look at her. "Oh frabjous, it is you!"

Selina gave the best smile she could, a little bit more wary now that there were two more weapons pointed at her with a madman behind them. She wasn't all that worried; Jervis was sweet (most of the time), but she did still have two shotguns aimed towards her and she wasn't ready to test how functionally accurate those masks were.

"Coming to take something of the poor Hatter? Oh you sneaky cat, you," Hatter tittered softly. "Perhaps you've come for a pig? Or was it a fig?"

"Jerv, honey," Cat smiled, thankful for her improv classes in middle school. "I was just about to ask you for a few things, but it seems your little bunny here beat you to it." She gestured to the fallen rabbit. "Sorry about that, by the way."

Hatter waved it off like it was nothing. "Oh no worries, my dear, they're all expendable anyways. I can always make more!" He unclasped his hands and looked around the room. "So, what, my dear Cheshire, did you need so badly that it required breaking in through the window?"

Cat grinned sheepishly, looking off to the side. If Jervis and Edward did indeed have some sort of spat, she would need to bring it up as gently as possible. "Oh just a few things for a client."

"A client?"

"Eddie. The rat friend," she clarified, hoping she got it right. She hadn't read Alice in Wonderland since she was forced to do a book report on it in eighth grade school, so she was a bit rusty on the lore.

"The Dormouse!" Hatter grinned, giving his hands a small clap. "Oh frabjous, he's finally crawled out of that tea pot of his. We need to have tea together sometime." He turned to one of the masked drones he kept around. "Go get the supplies, would you be so amiable?" The unknown man simply nodded and left to get whatever he was requesting. "Supplies?" Catwoman inquired, quirking a brow. Hatter looked back up at her with a smile, tenting his fingers in front of him as he spoke to her. "Of course! The necessities necessary for Dormouse's unnecessarily needy necessity."

Catwoman's confusion was more than evident.

"Er, the trinkets he needs?" Hatter clarified, his brow furrowed as he struggled to think of a way that would make sense to. He then began to list off the exact items Catwoman had on her list. It was a bit hard to understand, but she got the gist of it. While she was glad this job had turned out easier than expected, she would admit she was confused; from the way Nygma had put it, he had made the situation sound as if he'd rather Jervis not know he was even involved.

"Wait, he told you I was coming?" she asked, crossing her arms. This small movement made the other puppet renew the position of the gun pointed at her. She visibly grimaced in annoyance. "And can you get this guy to cool it with the gun?"

Hatter looked back at the much larger man, his expression souring. "You heard the nice cat. 'Cool it', as she says." The drone nodded and left with the weapon. "Anyhow, no, I never heard word that you were coming my way. Quite absurd, but I expect nothing less of the Dormouse, as lazy as he can be. He told me he was coming by himself! I made a cup of tea in preparation, but it seems to have gotten cold. It's about Time he retrieved the parts," he hummed. "Oh! Here they are now." The first mindless henchmen returned with a small bag of parts; it was everything Eddie needed from the Hatter. Still, she was understandably confused.

"When?" she asked, already preparing to leave.

"Oh? Six o' clock," Hatter replied. Catwoman gave him a look. "Six? Today?" she demanded, clenching the bag in her hand. "No no, several six o' clocks ago," he replied. "A good hundred or so."

"Jerv, sweetie, can you make sense for once?" Cat sighed, her patience thinning. Hatter just tossed a glance back at the henchman. "Explain to her in terms she would understand," he commanded.

"Three months ago," the man answered for him. Mad Hatter nodded as a sign of confirmation. "No one has seen the mouse since then. We almost thought he'd been shipped back to the not-Wonderland— Arkham!"

A curt "oh" was all Catwoman offered as a reaction. She processed it, but gave no other note about the subject. After a moment, she turned back to the window. "It's been fun, but a cat has to prowl." She opened the window once again. "Oh, wouldn't you like a hat?" the Hatter offered, to which she only responded with a strained smile. "Sounds lovely, Jerv, hon, but I'm going to be honest. You're sweet, but you're kind of a creep and I wouldn't trust you within fifty feet of my head."

Hatter didn't seem to be affected by comment. He just gave an understanding shrug and promptly walked back to the other room to continue his tea party. A second later, he could be heard declaring, "What in the name of- why in the Red Queen's name are you putting your weapon in the freezer?"

Cat rolled her eyes, pouncing out the window with a grace few could proudly say they had. "This city's full of weirdos," she muttered to herself, placing the goggles back atop her head as she strolled into an alleyway and made her way bad onto the rooftops. Looking up and into the night sky, she noted the bat signal shimmering over the overcast sky. "Not all of them bad, though, I suppose." She needed to get back to Ed if she wanted to get paid tonight. As much as she didn't mind seeing Mr. Tall, Dark, and Angsty, answering questions was always a hassle. She frowned, looking in the direction towards Riddler's hideout. "Alright, Eddie, time to see what the hell is up with you."

* * *

Nygma couldn't move. He couldn't see. His eyes were blinded by the large luminescent bulbs that shone their white light down at him. Had he actually not been paralyzed, it would have almost felt like a trip to the dentist in his youth. Various shadows flooded his vision and sounds could be heard, but he couldn't make out what anyone was saying. Filthy wet gloves wouldn't stop touching him. The pain was unbearable; he felt a sharp pain and a red hot liquid spilled down his throat in a gush. There were words, but they were unintelligible. He could every fiber of flesh tearing as the blade sliced through his skin smoothly like scissors gliding along paper. Blood gushed from his neck and down his-

Edward awoke with a curt gasp, sitting up in his seat in wide-eyed fear. Suddenly overwhelmed with the feeling of nausea, he pushed away from his work desk and over to the trash can. Edward covered his mouth as he struggled to push the memories away, but he could already feel bile begin to rise at the sickening thoughts. Still, he fought it down; he wasn't going through this again. The countless times he found himself white-knuckled over a bin had almost been enough to get him to stop eating completely.

"Mr. Riddler?"

Nygma's brow furrowed as he looked over at the radio. He readjusted his glasses so they wouldn't slip off his face as he pushed away from the bin. He tried to recollect his thoughts, coming back to the last thing he was doing before he had unknowingly fallen asleep. Noticing that there were even more crumpled balls of paper than usual, he gave a small "oh" as the memory came back to him. He had been "working" on one of his plans. It was more of "keeping himself busy", as "working" entailed actually making progress. At least he would be able to move forward a bit now; if Stat, another one of the various information retrievers he'd hired, was contacting him, it meant there was something new.

Clearing his throat, he pressed down on the button and answered with a "Yes?"

"I have the previous owners," Stat informed him, the sound of various keys typing on a keyboard audible in the background. Riddler blinked in slight confusion, sitting down. "Previous owners?" he inquired. The keys stopped for a moment. "Yeah, the owners," she replied. "Remember? For the warehouse?" His brow raised some in realization. "Oh! That one. Already?" He checked the time, wiping the sleep from his eyes. "How long has it been? An hour?"

"Three hours," Stat corrected, the keys starting back up again. "I've already sent them to you. I just wanted to notify you after you'd finished sleeping."

"I was _not_ sleeping," Riddler retorted, all the while rubbing he tiredness from his face. "I was just… ugh…" He gripped at his temples.

"Sleeping?" she repeated.

He glared at the device in annoyance, as if somehow hoping the look would transcend the limitations of his radio and land its way onto his current assistant. "Need I remind you it is I who pays you? Who allows you to be employed under and process information to one of the greatest minds of our time?"

"Sorry about that," she corrected herself, though there wasn't much of a shift in her tone. "I'm sure you were busy working on another contraption that will surely stop the Batman."

He smirked to himself, taking the win and removing his hand off of his creation. He let out a small yawn as he came to a stand. He used the table for support, feeling weaker than usual, despite having gotten more sleep than necessary. It was probably from his still nauseated state; the urge to vomit had disappeared, but he still felt sick just looking upon his own skin. Glancing back over the crumpled-up pieces of paper, he could see where he went wrong with each one. Every enigma was created by him without the help of others or the internet, and while he usually prided himself on such an achievement, it now seemed that with every equation he wrote down or every riddle he scribbled onto the paper was soon tossed into the bin. It wasn't that he had trouble coming up with riddles, but instead it was more of the fact they didn't seem to be any good. He worked tirelessly to think up some of the greatest brainteasers that even a mind like Hugo Strange wouldn't be able to solve, but any gratification he felt didn't seem to last very long.

Edward stopped for a moment, his mind going back to the man he had just compared himself to. Hugo Strange. Huh. He remembered that Strange has his own office in Arkham. Floor two, room thirty-six. Riddler grabbed his pen and smoothed out a previously crumpled piece of paper. He could already see it. Perhaps a device threatening to disarm the locks to the most secure criminals, like Mr. Freeze. Maybe he should place a bomb; there's nothing wrong with a good old fashioned bomb. No, even better: making the riddle another piece of a wild goose chase. He could envision it clearly. A bomb placed squarely in, say, a hospice, with a timer ticking down to midnight; Batman's brow furrowed in bewilderment as he moved from riddle to riddle, attempting to solve each one, but there's just not enough time, and with his intellect and cognitive abilities stooping far below that of the Riddler's, there was simply no possible way he would be able to solve it in time. The bomb would go off and Batman would be declared not a savior, but the intellectual inferior to the Riddler.

With newfound motivation, he began to write his idea onto the scrap of paper.

 _"Although my ramblings may seem two deranged,_

 _I can think of thirty-two reasons why they're not just Strange."_

Riddler grinned to himself, feeling that welling of success after once again coming up with another mind-boggling riddle.

Well… well except for the capital S. He frowned, cursing himself for only having pen at the moment, and promptly scribbled away the S. As he replaced it with a lowercase one, he realized just how imbecilic the phrase "thirty-two reasons" was. There had to be a better way to allude to that. As he began to write it something else, he decided to just scribble it out. He needed to find a better reference to Strange.

He paused in the chicken scratch and stared at the riddle for a moment, before giving himself a literal facepalm. "Strange. On the nose there, Nygma," he scolded himself, crumpling up the scrap of paper and tossing it into the trash can. "Of course he's going to figure that one out. Even a chimpanzee would solve that in a heartbeat."

Riddler took a moment to rest his head on his hands, just wanting for once in an eternity to solve his own riddle: how to regain touch with his own abilities. Grabbing some more scraps of paper, he flattened them out and took a look at a few of the riddles he'd written hours before.

 _"There's two sides with two different means. One takes out the garbage whilst the other cleans."_

 _"Don't get caught by this infamous gang. Should the heart give out, you'll go up in a bang!"_

 _"This old preacher does not forgive sin; find his disciple and you might find a win."_

They were all just… horrible. No matter how hard he worked on them or fiddled with the wordplay, he could easily see Batman solving them in the nick of time. They didn't feel good enough for Batman, as crazy as it sounds. Lifting his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Perhaps a bit of assistance would help him get back into the game. Working with someone would certainly reestablish his methods once again. Selina had mentioned Firefly; maybe he should give the flaming recidivist a call.

Memories flashed in his mind yet again of the consequences of those kinds of thoughts. He could distinctly recall the false cheery nature of the voice that called him over. He could feel the annoyance he had felt at being interrupted at the time for petty talk.

 _"Y'know, Riddler ol' sport, I hear your in search of an extra hand!"_

He cringed to himself, remembering how the fiend had wrapped an arm over his neck as if they were more than just known associates. Purple fabric had brushed against his neck, forcing him to stiffen up in the presence of the annoyance. His finger unconsciously rubbed along his neck and his collarbone, remembering how the arm felt just a bit too tight.

 _"Yes. What is the subject to you? I don't suppose you have any disposable help of your own, do you? And remove your arm from around my cervical region."_

The night where he couldn't move. The moments where he could feel fear overwhelm his heart. They came back to him. They filled him with a fear he thought he would never feel again. Not even Scarecrow could illicit such fear from his amygdala.

 _"You talk a lot, y'know that? Well, I know a good buddy of mine who can fix you right up! He has a bunch of help, too. He'll leave you speechless, haha!"_

 _"Is that so? I'm not an easy man to impress, mind you. Who is he?"_

Riddler abruptly pushed out of his chair, grabbing at his neck in hopes to relieve himself of the distinct memories of metal through flesh. He needed to get out of this room. Shoving all the discarded papers into the trash can, he spun around and hurried out the door, his hand still feeling at the distinct scar that trailed down his throat. The fading nausea was now resurfacing at full force. He desired a distraction from all of this. The automatic door slid open for him, but he didn't have time to dwell on creature comforts. He just wanted out.

"Go on. Knock on the door."

Riddler stopped before he could even cross the hall. Laughter could be heard from inside a nearby room, no doubt the thugs he hired taking the time to laugh and poke fun and waste their pointless lives.

"What the fuck? Hell no. He's gonna be pissed when he sees me."

" _If_ he sees you."

Nygma frowned, gripping the frame of the door but staying out of view. They were talking about him no doubt. Taking the distraction he had been given, he began to analyze the voices. The second one, who seemed to be egging the other on, was more familiar to him than others. A bit of memory searching reminded him that it was another one of his henchmen. He was the one who was flirting with Catwoman several hours before, as well as dragging his gun around as if it was a mere children's toy. Mulany was his name. It took a few seconds to remember that, though it wasn't like it was worth the brain power.

"For the last god damn time, he didn't fuckin' off himself."

"Bullshit. At this point, I'd give him another week before he hangs himself in that little safe space of his."

Edward thoughts froze, his jaw locking as his hand wrapped tighter around his throat. _Were_ they talking about him?

"Tell you what," Mulany offered, "if that little bitch isn't dead by the end of the month, I'll give you fifty bucks. Hell, I'll give you an extra ten if you go check right now!"

Fifty dollars. He felt a welling knot of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach at just their words alone.

"Whoa whoa, not so loud, asshole! What if he hears you," his friend hushed, trying to keep him quiet.

"Ha, you serious? Have you even seen him? I think after the whole Batman incident he somehow left his balls back in the hospital," Mulany joked. "Yeah he pays good, but if he thinks he's getting anywhere, he's in for a laugh."

"Geeze. Done this before, huh?" the other henchmen sighed, sounding uneasy by the tone of his voice. It only served to bring a twinge of satisfaction to Riddler, before being quickly snuffed out.

"Oh yeah. I used to work for Firefly. Now that is power. A crazy fucker he is," replied Mulany. "Riddler's just… limp. Like a wet cloth. He's a Batman obsessed geek who likes puzzles. Gimme a break."

"Alright, I'll go knock on his door. If he gets pissed, I'm blaming it on you."

The thug got up from his seat by the window, hauling his bat over his shoulder. "I swear, if he lowers my pay, Firefly won't be nothin' compared to what I'll do to you," he chuckled, turning towards the door. To his surprise, however, Riddler was already there, staring at them from the doorway. With his fingers grazing along his neck, he seemed visibly shaken. He looked as though he had just woken up from a nightmare, with sweat dampening his hair and everything.

"Oh… hey boss," the thug said slowly, backing up to stand beside his coworker. Mulany, who was sitting under one of the windows, just lit a cigarette as he watched Riddler stare down at him. His eyes flicked up to him, an annoyed expression gracing his less than pleasant features. "Ya need somethin'?" he demanded, his words slightly incoherent from the tobacco in his mouth.

Edward visibly grimaced; he opened his mouth to give a retort, but nothing came out. Clenching his jaw, he looked to the side. "No… nothing," he muttered, turning and walking down the hall.


	3. You're Edward, not the Riddler

"Mr. Riddler?"

Nygma glanced up from his work, setting down his screwdriver. He pulled the screws from between his teeth and pressed the button to the comm. "What comes in many different flavors with acquired tastes that can take years to develop? Use to state, prate, debate, and berate, once your mouth is closed, I am gone. What am I?" There was a small silence on the other end. "Ice cream?" Stat answered cautiously, earning a dramatic sigh. "Speech. And that, my dear member of the proletariat, is why I will always be in charge," he boasted, resting his chin on a propped up palm. "Ah, I thought I had that one. At least you're not sleeping," Stat called on the other end, her typing paused so she could get an earful of what he had to say back. "I assume you're working on your plans at last?" Ed paused, looking down at the machine on his desk. A certain tightness clenched at his chest, but he refused to believe it was any sort of fear. "I'm making adjustments to A-SIRA," he spoke simply, already sure of the praise that would come his way for the progress he'd made. Instead, he was startled by the flat "Oh." A frown made its way to his face as he pressed his finger to the button once again. "Would you like to elaborate on that 'oh?' You're going to admonish me for getting work done?"

"This is about the fifth adjustment you've made to A-SIRA," Stat brought up over the comm. Ed's throat felt dry. He felt that rising urge to snap at her, but nothing would leave him. "You always work on her when you don't want to work on plans," she continued. "It's progress," Nygma defended, a tad more sharply than intended, and yet he felt that it in no way threatened the broker. "With all due respect, Mr. Riddler, A-SIRA is a _vacuum_."

Nygma looked down at the disc-shaped automated vacuum. He felt a certain weight drop within him, a feeling he was never able to be fully cognizant of, much to his frustration. The exhausted man held his head in his hands, suddenly aware of the thin sheen of sweat that had accumulated along his hairline. He experienced a rise in his throat as he nearly gagged, gaining the sudden reflexive urge to react to such unwanted memories. "Stat," he muttered, his exhaustion renewed. "Just…" The broker stayed silent, attentively listening for what he needed to say. He bit back venomous words, and to his despair he just couldn't figure out why. "Just-" He practically lurched forward and unplugged the intercom, thus severing the connection between villain and his employee. He stared at the now silent comm, slumping back against his rolling chair in silent fury. Voice weak, he found no reason to even make an attempt at a boisterous disposition. "Just… shut up."

The silence now taking hold, the room was sweltering. The villain took time to start a few steady breaths, removing his glasses to wipe away the accumulating sweat. He hated perspiration with a passion, with just how slick and disgusting it was, reminding him of a familiar warm fluid. He cringed to himself, placing two hands atop his head to open up his airways to breathe easier. As much as he hated sweat, he had been simply drenched in the muck for far too many nights as of late. He could count the nights of restful sleep on one hand, but it wasn't just the nightmares that made him feel so stuffy.

He stared at A-SIRA in silent contemplation, attempting to keep his mind off of that familiar nauseating feel of his hand running through bodily fluids. And yet, his hand almost always found its way back to his neck, unconsciously rubbing and feeling a scar that had almost completely healed at this point. Unlike the disgusting lunatics back at the asylum, he was never able to pick at scars, lest the memory of broken bones and cutting and _slicing_ and slick gloves resurface once more. Ed felt a wave of nausea overtake him. He held a hand to his mouth, shrugging off the coat that was meant to keep him warm on these autumn nights, and yet every time he rubbed at his skin he could still feel those slick, wet, _warm_ hands grab him by the chin. Bright, luminescent bulb would shine down on him as he felt- no, _was_ paralyzed and unable to resist. Large, wild, unstable eyes staring down at him, talk of gibberish foretelling all the awful, unthinkable, _terrifying_ procedures he was going to be subjected to. He felt that bile rise to his throat, though he tried to steady himself with slow breathing through his nose. His hand trailed down to his neck, tracing along that scar, and with it came the the scarring memories of the blade of a scalpel slicing through his skin. Blood readily spilt down his neck, training the table beneath him as tears made their own wet trails from his eyes to wet either side of his head. Unintelligible noise came from behind that mask, and that _thing_ readily grabbed at his face like a mother with a petulant child she'd just had about enough off. His cheeks were slick with warm blood— his blood. A shaky breath left him, and with that he forced back any vomit that had tried to get the best of him. Edward had felt his end coming, but death never terrified him. He wouldn't be in this business if he had been afraid of the well known risks, death being very much a factor. What had shaken him, however, were those large, blank, staring eyes. The dozens of them that tracked his every move, all signs of intelligence or higher thought lost in a blank haze. Years of work and life experience and knowhow all obliterated and turned into this blank slate of what once was a human being. No control over your actions or even your thoughts. A complete lobotomization of thought and will. Ed took a steady breath, a hand coming to his stomach as some vain attempt at comfort. Thoughts ran wild as his imagination got the better of him, knowing that if Batman hadn't shown up, he would have become one of those thoughtless, blank, unintelligent, lobotomized—

Edward forced himself from his chair, stomach acid burning its way up his throat. He gripped the edges of his trash can, emptying the contents of his stomach until he was simply dry heaving into the bin. Tears from reflex sprung to his eyes, and despite his best efforts, he slumped to the ground, letting them continue to pour and slide down his cheeks. He felt disgusted with himself, crying like a welp in his room, too terrified to come out. He forced his tears to a halt, however, even he heard a pounding at his door.

"Hey Riddler!"

Nygma sprang to his feet, hurriedly grabbing his coat and slipping it back on. "Who is it?" he demanded with a tenuous tone of voice, before looking back at the door with a glare that his low voice couldn't travel so far. Fervently wiping away sweat and damp eyes, he forced that robust call that had always been so innate. "What do you need this time?"

"Catwoman's back again. Think she's got your things," the lackey called back. "Very well. I'll be there in just a moment," Nygma responded. He stared at the door, clearing his throat. "Don't come in," he added. He didn't know why he needed to tag that on, but he did and it made him feel a tad better. It was unknown if the guard was even still around to hear it, but it happened and it was done. And yet, he found his eyes lingering on the door far longer than they should have. Time ticked on for far too long, however, and idle thoughts only led to disastrous thinkings.

"It's just Catwoman," he assured himself, screwing back on A-SIRA's panel and setting her back onto the floor. "She's just going to deliver you her things, you're going to take them, and you're going to…" He paused, looking back at crumpled and discarded plans and riddles. "Yeah…" He grabbed the remote control to his little invention, switching A-SIRA on. "Alright, go clean…" He looked back up at the door, a tightness reappearing within his chest. "Uhm… Just clean this room." With a click of a button, the riddle apparatus began slowly traversing the room to suck up minute bits of dust. He didn't trust her to move outside of the doorframe.

Taking in a slow breath, he placed his hat back atop his head, fixed his glasses back on, grabbed his cane, and approached the automated door, which opened for him and closed as soon as he was out of the five-foot range. Immediately eyes were on him. As usual he attempted to ignore the stares, keeping his head held high. It had never been a problem until just recently, but he could feel eyes transfixed onto him, as if silently judging his every move. It was only a short walk and yet he felt as though he had just traversed a mile in sweltering clothing. Stepping outside, he was met with a cool breeze and the foul smell of burned fuel that caused his nose to reflexively scrunch. He was used to the smell given his talents with machinery, but just the unexpected power was cause for some pause. It was familiar, but not enough for anything to jump to the forefront of his mind. Quickly moving past the smell mentally, he realized just how heavy his cane felt in his hands. He stared down at it, embarrassment welling up inside of him. He felt like a child for carrying this thing around. Ed had never known himself to be so self-conscious; he was the least insecure person he knew. And yet, he set the cane to the side of the building, not wanting it to be seen when meeting with Catwoman.

"Yeah, he hasn't come out of his room in ages 'til you came 'round."

Edward's neck nearly snapped as his head tried to swivel like an owl's one hundred eighty degrees to stare daggers at the unruly henchman he had mistakingly hired months ago. Mulany, he remembered with silent disdain. It seemed that he wasn't the only one with similar distaste, as Selina held that still unimpressed gaze as she sat perched on the brick wall. "He just sits in his room all day with his dick in his hand I'm sure," Mulany rambled on, seemingly unaware of his employer standing mere feet away. As soon as the profanity left his mouth, Cat's eyes rose to meet eyes of the subject of the story. A sudden burst of confidence rose up within him. Thoroughly planned admonishments and insults were formed within his mind; every biting word and vicious attack he had fantasized springing forth as he stepped forward.

"It's pathetic, but I'd take him over Joker or Penguin any day. Pay's good, y'know?"

Edward's legs were locked to the ground as that confidence slowly died with those venomous words that had tore at his throat. Cat's brow shot up at his acquiescence as her expression remained unimpressed. "Tell me more," she smiled, looking back down at the henchman, much to Ed's evident chagrin. "Ah, there's lots to tell," laughed the lackey. "He's stopped yelling, that's great. He's still annoying as fuck, but he shuts up if you just glare at him." Nygma's jaw clenched and worked tightly, and yet he was unable to speak.

"The best thing, y'know, was this one time he got on my case for leavin' my shit everywhere. So I grabbed the twerp by his shirt." He averted his gaze, face heated at the mortifying recounting. "I take my gun and put it to his head, and he just starts bawling and begging me not to kill him." The laugh that followed shook Nygma to his core. He was tempted to go back inside and avoid the sun for the rest of his life. "Best day I've had workin' for one of these guys, lemme tell ya. You can't get this shit from Firefly, y'know?"

It was about that time that Mulany turned his head lazily, catching his boss out of the corner of his eye. "Oh, there he is," he grinned, looking back to see that man glare silently in the least threatening tone. It was like seeing a child glaring angrily at a mother that had just delivered her punishment. Even as the henchman passed, he was unable to muster anything of actual substance. He flinched when that door slammed behind him, shame reeking off of him even if he had a steady control of his facial expressions.

Cat silently pushed herself off of the ledge, a lipstick smile formed on her face. "He's a good storyteller, I'll give him that," she grinned, watching Riddler turn his expression to her as the door slammed shut. "I'm surprised you didn't backhand him across the face, Ed." The puzzle fanatic merely brushed off the idea. "Do I look like a mastermind or a spurned lover?" he criticized. His arms crossed, everything about him seemed so tightly packed. She liked to imagine he was attempting to shrink in size so no one would notice him anymore. "You look like a hot mess," she noted, a twinge of aversion gracing her face. "You're so very..."

"Sloven? Egregious? Uncouth? Corybantic?" Ed attempted to finish for her. "Sweaty was the word on my mind, but I guess those words work, too." Catwoman corrected, and with a smirk, she tossed him the bag of supplies, which he thankfully caught. His humiliation wouldn't have been able to grow any more if the contents had spilt to his feet. "So we agreed a couple thousand for all that, hmm?" she checked for reassurance, gaining a stiff nod. "Good. I need another favor from you, though." She pulled out her phone, scrolling to find the map application. "Eddie, if you could be a sweetie, I really need Scarecrow's location. I've really been needing that fear juice of his but unfortunately I need a way to actually contact him first, but a shut-in's a shut-in."

Nygma was, of course, startled by the request. "Oh? And just what makes you think I know?" he demanded, his tone once again tenuous, but still holding that boisterous undertone. Catwoman gave him a look that clearly read "really?" Nygma's face heated up anew and he let out a weak sigh. "Yes, fine, I know where he is," he conceded, tossing his head to the side as though he couldn't care. "It was simple to find out, really. I have record of most properties within Gotham, and as I'm sure even the most simple minded can reason that I'd know the names and aliases of each to buy the… property…" His tone slowed as Catwoman's stare continued. He cleared his throat. "He's, er, in the old shop near Chinatown."

Cat scoffed, putting her phone away as she knew the location he was talking about. "Geeze, did they they remove your spine when they left that cut in your neck, Eddie?" she teased. Edward's expression appropriately fell flat. "Oh don't give me that look," she chided. "Why didn't you tell me you requested supplies from the Mad Hatter months ago, hmm?"

"Ah. I see you stopped for a chat during your job," Nygma sneered, but Cat remained unchanged. "Ed. Are you scared of him?" she demanded, expression unwavering under his reprimand. The mastermind was unable to stop the dopey surprise that flitted across his visage, only to be replaced by vigorous, forced laughter. "Me? Scared of Tetch?" he parroted back, his tone rightfully bewildered. "I've never heard such an outrageous accusation! The pipsqueak is good for tech, but hardly even worth shaking a stick at."

"Oh good," Cat smiled sweetly, gesturing to a darkened area of the already poorly-lit perimeter, "because I brought him along with me."

Edward's reaction of jolting and taking a leap away from said direction spoke volumes. "You did _what_?" He hissed, eyes widened and pinpricked and pinballing around the darkness for any sort of sign for the small madman. It was only seconds later that he noticed the smile on the other. "Oh…" he whispered. "You were, ahem… you were lying. You see, I was just, er… surprised..."

"Ed, I think you need to see a doctor," Catwoman told him, a more serious tone catching his silent ire this time around. "You mean Crane, the bag of straw," he jeered, disgust once again splaying over his face. "You're the one who needs a doctor if you think I'm at all sick. Scarecrow only has an interest in getting into your head and scrambling whatever sense you already have." He tossed a glare her way. "As if you could even find the man's location."

"You mean the location you just gave me?" Cat smirked, hands finding their way to her hips with her weighty shifting to one foot. Riddler bit back a curse at his own momentary stupidity. "Ah. Yes. That one," he muttered, blaming the slip-up on a lack of sleep. "Even as said before, Catwoman, I am in no need of the assistance of a madman. Besides, I honestly doubt you could ever convince me to step foot in that sadist's turf."

Catwoman merely shrug, as if giving him victory in his reasoning. "True," she admitted, gesturing a clawed glove to the area just above Edward's shoulder. "That's why I brought Firefly along." To this, Ed could only laugh in mockery. "Oh, is that so?" he sneered. "Fool me once, Catwoman. Fool me once."

Ed heard the sight, and yet deafening crunch of gravel under a heavy boot. Only then did he realize where that strong smell of fuel originated from. He mentally swore a flurry as he had no idea how he had forgotten one of the biggest giveaways of any of his known associates. It was a quality he had complained about time and time again, and here it was back to haunt him at his weakest moment. His body seized up automatically, eyes widened in obvious terror. "You… told him where my hideout was?" he whispered, despite knowing very well that the pyromaniac could hear every word. Cat shrugged, taking a step back to give Ed the room he needed to properly have a terrified emotional breakdown. "I told you he's been trying to get ahold of you for weeks. I just had to call him up and he was more than eager to come meet me here," she explained. Edward was understandably flummoxed. "Why do you have his number in your cell phone?" he demanded, voice still in a loud whisper, now used to simply exaggerate his terror and underlying fury. "He helped find a couple of my cats once in return for some stolen napalm," she grinned. "Mmm, how amiable of him," he mocked through gritted teeth. Another crunch of gravel signified the man in question grew closer; startled, Edward spun around to face the arsonist with eyes the size of spotlights.

While Ed always flaunted his brains over the brawn and muscle of any other villain, he couldn't help the intimidated feeling that overcame him it the far more broad, imposing figure of Garfield. He supposed one had to be rather well-built in order to carry a hundred pound hunk of metal on their back as a large part of their persona, but he never quite liked being faced with a man with the muscle of one of his lackeys and the trigger-happy unpredictability of the Joker. While Firefly's skin was already a dark chestnut in the dim moonlight, twists and trails of a darker brown marring his arms and slithering up his face were more than evident in the flickering light that illuminated the door; scars that covered nearly every inch of his body that let no man forget the incident that led to the villain that stood before them. Edward unconsciously brought a hand to his own neck, feeling along that scar as he briefly wondered how a man was able to live his life covered in reminders each day without offing himself. He was already falling apart with just one. Unlike how he was usually seen in the full-bodied, flame retardant suit, this visit was far more casual, given all he seemed to throw on was a pair of cameo pants and a tank top, as well as that large, folded metal device on his back that gave him his namesake. What Nygma sure as hell did not fail to miss was the large flamethrower clipped to his belt, along with a couple napalm grenades. You know, one of those "just in case" weapons that you bring along when you're not sure if you feel like torching a building full of civilians. Ed wasn't exactly sure how pyromania worked inside the head of a madman, nor was he exactly sure why he was even here.

After a good thirty seconds of staring, Garfield decided to break the silence with a casual insult. "You know, we have a lady here dressed like a cat, but you're probably the biggest pussy I've ever seen." Ed's mouth was clenched tight, but more out of fear than any genuine anger. That burning feeling was trying to fight its way back up, but it only died when Firefly jabbed a provoking finger into his shoulder. "Come on, nothing?" He much preferred that taunting grin to be behind a mask. "What happened to you? Get loud, get proud." Nygma received another harsh jab to his shoulder, one that actually forced him back a bit. He took in a breath, and Firefly paused to let him speak. It was clear he was hoping for some biting response, but whether or not this intent malicious was what held back his usual repertoire of cleverly devised insults and toxic sneers. He chose— a word he was using so broadly it could define his very emotions— to stay quiet, finding it hard to speak even if he wanted to. Realizing he would get no response, Firefly grew impatient once again. A splayed palm pushed against Edward's chest this time, sending him back a couple steps. Ed absolutely adored his personal space, being known for lecturing anyone who placed an unwanted hand on his person. That age old pet peeve didn't seem to be so important when another hand shoved against his chest. "Tell me my face looks like rotten avocado skin drawn on with sharpie by a blind man," he dared. "Tell me about how I constantly reek of ten years worth of compacted car exhaust." Another shove. Nygma was rigid, jaw locked tight and silent. It was like watching a child be berated by a parent with how Ed seemed to want to give some sort of physical or verbal response but could only offer silence in reality. Ed told himself he didn't want his intonation to give anything away, but his silence spoke far more than any tremble of his voice. Even when he was terrified, he had always been able to work out a threatening quip or two. "Not even a riddle?" Firefly laughed, taking a step back. "Huh. And here I thought I was only coming here for my benefit. You seriously need some help, Nygma."

Finally Ed found his voice somewhere buried underneath his own shame. "Is that what he's here for?" he snapped to Catwoman. "Is this some half-wit's idea for an intervention? You really shouldn't have, Cat. Honestly, you shouldn't have. This is simply pointless." Selina waited until he was completely done, arms crossed in that same nonchalant manner. "He's going to take you to Scarecrow and the doctor's going to fix you."

"As if. He'd sooner lobotomi-" The victin stopped himself in the middle of that word, swallowing thickly at the thought and instead refusing to finish the sentence. "So I assume he's going to walk me eighteen miles at gunpoint with a flamethrower." His tone made the idea sound ludicrous, but his terror of the very idea was unmatched. Catwoman and Firefly both shared a laugh, much to Nygma's chagrin. "Nah," Selina grinned. "That's why he brought the wings."

Ed felt his heart drop through his stomach and crash through the floor. He looked back at Lynns; the man was practically bouncing in his spot given his excitable nature and a need for fire and flight. Taking several cautious steps backwards, a glower quickly formed across Ed's face. "What are you doing?"

Nygma's breathing hitched as two stronger arms wrapped around his stomach. "Hold on," Firefly grinned, large metal wings suddenly unfolding and extending far on either side. He heard those jets start up. Ed immediately began fighting against his hold, but unfortunately, his championing of brains over brawn did have its unfortunate long-term consequences. As a last ditch effort, he gave Firefly the most malicious stone-cold stare he could muster, letting the fiend know he was dead serious. "You. Wouldn't. Dare."

Ed let out an indignant shriek as he was suddenly blasted into the sky, arms flailing until he couldn't do so anymore unless he wanted to be a bloody stain on the ground. Dignity long gone, he was only left to shout incoherently as he was soon brought up far above Gotham.

"Beautiful night in Gotham, ain't it?" Firefly asked as he paused in the air, taking a gander over the city lit up by the city's cars, streetlights, neon signs, and the many houses and buildings that dotted the slums Edward had located himself in. The city landscape was dotted in a way an artist could never quite capture onto a canvas. "That sight is not something you can get from the ground, y'know?" Firefly sighed softly over Nygma's screaming. "Alright, sightseeing over. Let's go."

Firefly moved a good twenty feet before stopping midair, letting out a slow "hmmm" through Ed's desperate gasps of air. "Wait, no, it's this way." He twirled himself in the other direction, Nygma's legs making that perfect arch as he was also spun around. That started up the panicked screaming again as they moved in the opposite direction, before once again making an abrupt stop. "Wait, no. Chinatown is north, right?" Ed shrieked as they moved in yet another direction, once again stopping soon after. "The northern star is that one, right?" Nygma clung onto Firefly's arm for dear life with a bloodcurdling cry of fear as the other arm left his stomach to point at a random star that looked slightly larger than the others, leaving him to be held up by a single appendage. "Ack, I think it is. I mean it's kinda hard to see from here. I've actually never been to Chinatown. In Gotham anyways. I've ordered Chinese food from there before because I'm all for Chinese food, but I always get takeout since I'm a wanted crim-"

"FOLLOW WINSTON ROAD!" Riddler screamed at the top of his lungs. Firefly just laughed and moved his other arm to securely carry the scrawnier male. "There it is. Alright, hold on."

Nygma's pupils shrank in horror and he quickly clung onto the villain's arms. Just in time, too, as Firefly immediately punched it to top speed. He got a view of Gotham he never wanted to see as he was a) now horizontal to the ground with how fast they were going, and b) being held by Firefly of all people. He greatly reconsidered just how bad the sweet embrace of death would be when compared to this very moment. This was only further exacerbated when he was able to hear Garfield's taunting laughter over the wind in his ears. Any screaming was halted as he just couldn't find the time to with all the twists and turns Lynns was doing. This wasn't because he was weaving in between buildings or anything, but he instead just seemed to be either having some fun doing a flip or two in the air, trying to show off, or trying to further how much he was able to scare the shit out of his passenger. Ed was somewhat thankful they were going so fast, as it meant it would all be over sooner.

The ride was short, but to the Riddler it seemed like an eternity in hell before he was finally dropped onto the ground, stiff but somehow shaking to the point of near vibration. "Pretty fun, eh?" Garfield chuckled, giving him a sturdy pat on the back as he seemed to bounce in place to shake out all the energy within him. Nygma slapped his hand away. He took a moment to steady his breathing while crouched on the ground. The mastermind was glad he had already emptied his dinner out a good thirty minutes before, as he could certainly feel something rising again. "I'm just thankful you didn't drop me, you absolute maniac!" Ed snapped, some of his old tone finally seeping in, even if it did come in faint wisps that disappeared after a few seconds. "You must have to carry people quite often, which I must say is a benefit."

"Nah, not really," Lynns shrugged, looking around at the alley they had just landed in. Luckily no one ever came back to these spaces in fear of being murdered. It wasn't a dangerous area; it was just Gotham. "I've only really carried three other people. I'm getting better with my grip, though. The last guy I dropped at least twice." Nygma slowly looked over with wide, glaring eyes that burned hotter than anything that flamethrower could possibly spit out. Either Lynns didn't see it or he didn't care. He simply gestured to the old building they had parked by. "According to your directions, this is the place. He should be in there."

Nygma looked up at the decrepit brick building they had found themselves next to, immediately catching a rising sense of anxiety. His breath caught in his throat as he felt more hesitant now than he had when being berated by the man that just carried him across Gotham.

"I'll camp out here once you go in," Firefly informed him. "I'll probably stop by that Chinese restaurant while I wait. I'm in the mood for some chow mein." Ed took the comment as an opportunity to show his momentary disgust and contempt for the villain. "Oh. Thank you for your support," he muttered, lips turned up in a sneer. In all honesty he wasn't going to go inside unless it was at gunpoint. The bit of sarcasm seemed to be one that Firefly quickly latched onto, as he once again approached the question fanatic with a gruff "hey." Nygma was once again stiff and wide-eyed, back up against the wall as he saw the other's advance as more of a way to corner him. Instead, Garfield took the time to point to the exit of the alleyway, gesturing to an invisible other. "Remember, if you're not like us, you're just as expendable as they are." Edward instinctively looked over at the gestured area as if taking a look at the mentioned "they". Brow furrowed but heart still racing, he watched the big guy walk away and close his wings. Nygma was too bothered by fretting thoughts to consider how long it would take to get the smell of fuel out of his shirt. He looked across the weary building, a door catching his eye. He had half the mind of simply making a run for it. The risks of being captured and detained by the police were more than evident, but if he were to be completely honest with himself, that felt far more preferable than being forced to face the Scarecrow, and in turn, whatever his vials of chemicals had in store for him. Despite all that, he was soon in front of the imposing metal door itself, only a one-sided window there to act as a makeshift porthole. "If you're not like us… you're like everyone else," he repeated slowly, not fully cognizant of his first raising to the door. His knuckled rested against the cool, chipping paint with a shaky sigh. "You're not like everyone else," he murmured, bringing his fist back in order to give it a hard rap. He realized as he did so that this doctor's visit would more than likely help more than hurt him. After all, he'd known Jonathan as an associate for years. All he was going to do was help him overcome a few bad memories.

That's when it hit him again. A sudden rigidness overcame his body as memories resurfaced. Bloody gloves, manic eyes, blank staring faces; all those abhorrent memories were vividly recreated in his mind once more. Every fine detail in Nygma's vast database of memory would once again be forced upon him to once again etch those horrid visuals deeper into his brain. He swallowed thickly, breathing coming to a halt as it was now a battle to keep himself from knocking on that door.

Placing a flat palm against the cool metal of the door, he rested a hot, sweat-coated forehead against the door with closed eyes, experiencing that rise in his stomach once more. "I can't do it," he whispered, breathless and giving way to the exhaustion that had plagued many of his nights. "I'm sorry… I just can't go through that again." There was no response from Firefly, but Nygma didn't care. He simply wanted to be able to speak his mind with the sole motivation being having someone there to listen; someone to understand how he felt so deep inside a hole with no chance of climbing out. He was stuck in this perpetual limbo between the man he once was struggling to regain his footing and an injured animal not knowing whether he wanted to survive or for everything to be over. "It's just… too much. I want to believe in my heart I will be able to grit my teeth and soldier through this with an iron will, but these memories… these crushing experiences my mind is forced to carry, I feel as though I've reached a limit." He let out a quivering breath. "I feel weak… I feel sick… I'm tired… and I know that no matter what is thrown my way, it will only serve to throw more weight onto burdened shoulders. If I go through with this again… I don't think I'll recover. I am among the greatest this city has ever lain witness to, and yet I doubt any man could go through what I have, lest they end up in Arkham." He swallowed. "I can't do it again…"

"Oh for the love of Christ," Lynns sighed, pulling the weaker man out of the way and pounding on the door. Ed blinked with wide, horrified eyes at the entrance. "What did you _do_?" he accused, immediately moving to get out of the gaze of the doorway. However, a stronger arm pulled him back with a humorless chuckle. "This is for your own good." Ed knew just how children felt whenever they struggled to get away from their father's grasp to escape an oncoming punishment. He fought and he belted out stumbling explanations as a plea to be set free. Silence fell over him, however, when that heavy door was pushed open to reveal the thin frame of the Scarecrow, staring down oddly at them from atop the steps.

"Riddler… Firefly," Crane coldly greeted them from behind a burlap mask. His words could hardly be processed through the thumping of Nygma's heart within his own ears. "How… interesting to see you both here." Ed struggled to keep up a relaxed façade, despite knowing even his best attempts could never fool the Scarecrow. As soon as the Master of Fear's gaze locked on Edward, he immediately seemed to zone in on the enigmatic man. Everything about Nygma must have been a dead give away, from a stiff posture to the sheen of sweat to the constricted pupils. Ed couldn't even control his body language; just the way he kept his arms tightly to himself in attempt to shrink away from Firefly's touch was more than enough proof that Crane needed. "Ah… I see," Scarecrow murmured, that stiff voice taking a far more loose and dangerous edge as Ed's secret seemed to have revealed itself and not of his own volition.

"Treat him right, Professor. Imma need him soon enough." With that, Firefly shoved Nygma to Scarecrow's feet with little regard. "He better be fixed soon."

"I wasn't expecting a new patient around this time, but I believe I can fit you in somewhere," Scarecrow crooned, helping a reluctant Ed to his feet. "Granted this might take a bit of time." It was at this time that Riddler came to the conclusion that he hated doctors. Just how Scarecrow seemed to have this need to relate everything to a field he was disgraced from was borderline irritating. Nygma felt another rise, this one being of an anger that made him lash out without thought.

"I don't-!" Crane looked over in mild interest as Nygma seemed to finally protest, but only to cut himself off. His jaw was locked tight, either fighting back an unconscious urge or fighting to fulfill this urge through an internal struggle. He opened his mouth, ready to give this impassioned chide to the two men that dared to treat him as a child. "Nev-" He swallowed, looking away. "Nevermind…" The unfinished thought remained exactly that.

"Oh," said the Scarecrow as he seemed to finally realize the gravity or Edward's condition, "you need help." Nygma made a face, looking back on his actions to try and pinpoint the marker that had made his plight so obvious to the professor. Firefly seemed to be content with the situation and saluted the two before walking out of sight. Without any delay, Ed found himself tugged into the hideout with an almost fervor-like hurriedness to Scarecrow dragging him along. Inside the dingy hideout, he was brung to what he could only assume was a torture room of sorts, guessing from the woman tied to a chair. He felt his heart race as he realized he was about to take her place. Taking his eyes off her, he looked around for literally any sort of salvation to act as a distraction from his oncoming 'treatment'. He noticed a single guard sitting in the corner, a surprised expression etched onto his face. The former mastermind struggled to say something— anything —that would prove that he wasn't going to take this flat on his back. He could bring up how irresponsible it was to only have one henchman in the entire building, or perhaps how brutish it was to torture someone for the crime of being able to feel fear. No matter what came up, however, everything just seemed to be vetoed the moment they reached his mouth. So instead he was resigned to watch Scarecrow order his henchman around.

"Rockwell, move my current patient out of the room, would you please?" he commanded, locking the door that would be his patient's only exit. "You mean get rid of her?" the henchman questioned— another irk to Ed. He was ready to backhand any lackey that even questioned his commands, and to him Scarecrow's calm demeanor was worthy of extensive criticism only the Riddler could properly supply. "No no, simply make room for Mr. Nygma. He's far more important," Scarecrow instructed, picking up his notebook that was lain on a table. Ed couldn't help the sinking feeling when he saw a variety of syringes just strewn about.

'You can do this. Simply enlighten him on how uncouth his workspace in. He could certainly benefit from being more immaculate,' he told himself, the purpose really only to prove to himself that he could get through the plague that haunted him. "I-" He shut his mouth when Scarecrow paused in his fervent writing— no doubt a vilification piece focusing on the Riddler —to peer over at the man he had worked with time and time again. Nygma swallowed, looking away, whatever he had to aver about the room now gone, along with whatever spine he still had left. As the lackey finished storing the unconscious woman in a closet, Scarecrow's writing seemed to come to a slow halt. "Please have a seat."

Nygma looked at the chair now placed in the center of the small room, the only light being a lamp that hung from a wire cord overhead. So typical it bordered on the edge of being unbearably cheesy. "Oh, so you can bind me up like one of your victims?" Edward spat. Scarecrow looked up a leering gaze behind the dark holes of his mask. "Does it matter?"

Apparently it didn't, as Ed found himself in the chair of his own volition just a moment later. That tiny bit of spine he had not tossed away was slowly being shaven off. With a gesture of his hand to the door, the henchman quickly got the hint and exited with little question.

Nygma felt as though a spotlight had been placed on him as the doctor's judgmental gaze seemed to rival that of many. He felt exposed both inside and out, that lump in his throat keeping him from any sort of speech. He was thankful to not be tied down, despite feeling trapped nonetheless. Scarecrow took a moment to scrawl down something into that notebook of his, before turning his full attention to his new patient. "So tell me, Mr. Nygma—"

"Riddler," Ed interjected with a feeble attempt and gaining control of the conversation. That giggle that erupted from behind the mask sent his confident down to the lowest peg. "No… you're not the Riddler," he murmured, much to Edward's confusion. "Now, tell me, Mr. Nygm, what are you afraid of?"

Ed could only stare with wide eyes, the only sound being the loud thumping in his ears. He opened his mouth to speak, but once again, found himself unable to utter a single word.


End file.
